Hear You Me
by November Rain 19
Summary: A short deathfic to a song by Jimmy Eat World. A sort of Daisuke/Hikari....


Author's Notes: Short song/death fic. C'mon, what did you expect from me? I needed a break from the chapter of 'Bracelets' I'm writing anyway. I was thinking specifically of Daisuke and Hikari while writing this, but really any characters could be used since no names were used in the fic. Song is by Jimmy Eat World. 

Dedication: For anyone who has ever wanted to leave this world but has stuck it out. It's much harder to stay where you are than to get out. Glad you stayed. 

Hear You Me 

_There's no one in town I know_   
_You gave us someplace to go_   
_I never said thank you for that_   
_Thought I might get one more chance_

She smelled of strawberries. 

That is the first conscious thought I remember being around her. It was like perpetual summer being near her. And now, like some pavlovian experiment, the sight or smell of the sweet fruit drags up memories of her. 

Whether I want to recall them or not. 

_What would you think of me now?_   
_So lucky_   
_So strong_   
_So proud_   
_Never said thank you for that_   
_Now I'll never have the chance_

There is such a fine line between being confident and cocky or proud and arrogant. For most of my youth I fell in the latter of the two in each category. People put up shields because they are trying to hide. I thought my brash bravado did a good job. Everyone saw me as the loud mouthed idiot. 

All except her. 

She got me. She understood me and saw past all that I put up to keep others out. And since she now saw past them, there was no more need for them. I quit soccer and took up other passions I had long since had but never indulged in. I have always loved writing and music and surprisingly, I am halfway decent at both. 

I never got to thank her for that. 

_May angels lead you in_   
_Hear you me my friends_   
_On sleepless roads the sleepless go_   
_May angels lead you in_

I haven't slept since it happened. And by no stretch of the imagination is that false. At nighttime I drive. I never give any thought to where I am going. I drive around until twilight breaks the night's hold on the sky. Then I return to my home and shut out the light. I sit in the dark and remember. 

I want to sleep so badly. Every time I close my eyes, her image assaults me. Not the one where she is happy and smiling, but rather the one how I found her. 

We were supposed to hang out and I showed up at her apartment at the agreed upon time. The front door was unlocked, which was not in itself an unusual thing. The apartment itself was dark, which did strike me as odd. 

A crack of light from under the bathroom door caught my attention. The door itself was not shut properly. After a tentative knock with no answer, I pushed it open. 

The harsh overhead lighting of the bathroom shown down on her like a spotlight in a theater. 

The all black clothing she was wearing looked unnaturally shiny, the sheen that I would realize, a second too late, accompanies a piece of cloth being soaked beyond its capacity to hold a liquid. 

The thick shadow she cast upon the floor seemed to be expanding slowly outward. 

I didn't know blood could look so black. 

When the paramedics arrived, they said I was screaming. Funny, I don't remember that happening. I don't remember any sounds actually. It was like watching a muted television show as they worked on her already cold body. 

_If you were with me tonight_   
_I'd sing to you just one more time_   
_A song for a heart so big_   
_God wouldn't let it live_

Her heart was so big, and she wore it on her sleeve where it all too often got ripped and tattered and broken. She felt others ills as though she was responsible for them. 

There's no way God would let a heart so big to live. It makes me think that Ernest Hemmingway once said that the world breaks everyone, and afterwards we are strong at the broken places. There are those people the world cannot break so it kills them. It kills the very good, the very strong and the very brave. 

Part of me wants to hate her for leaving me, especially like this. A bigger part of me hates myself for not seeing. 

We used to hang out and I would play tunes on my guitar and sing for her. It wasn't rock star quality like Yamato's was, but it didn't have to be. Thinking of this makes my chest constrict and I stop breathing the pain is so intense. 

That is how I last saw her alive, was at one of our little jam sessions. I haven't picked up my guitar since. I honestly don't know if I ever will be able to again. 

_May angels lead you in_   
_Hear you me my friends_   
_On sleepless roads the sleepless go_   
_May angels lead you in_

I hope she is at peace, wherever she is. Maybe in the land of the angels, if you believe in that sort of thing. 

It's nighttime once again. I grab my keys for the sojourn with the open road. It's a small bit of comfort that the road doesn't sleep either. 

At least I'll have company. 

_May angels lead you in_   
_Hear you me my friends_   
_On sleepless roads the sleepless go_   
_May angels lead you in_   


The End   


"Tomorrow night is nothing but one long sleepless wrestle with yesterday's omissions and regrets." - William Faulkner, Intruder in the Dust 


End file.
